“I think I wanna marry you”: Art collab part two! (tw: Nudity)

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I named this for reasons, but I am not sure if it’s my place to disclose them? Achiru, will know what’s up.

So, the last piece was Achiru’s take on something I drew, this is my colouring of their work/ line art.

There will be a rant about this one, but it may not be as long as the one the “Alice” post.

Part of that ties into both the name and of the piece, too, but really this was the one I was worried about in the art trade.

I got the “Alice” one back, and it was so cool. They took what I saw or the idea in my work and they massively improved on it. She (Achiru), is a pro. I wasn’t surprised. But with my skills and how much I was learning, the idea that I could return that favor in kind seemed like a pipe dream. I saw her improve my stuff, and I was trying to do as cool shit as she normally does!

Were are new friends. I know more of her style and her art work than her characters. I had to double check, even though I loved the arch these two were from, that I had the right folks even. I donated to the gender bend page, so even then I only really know versions of these characters.

She had to teach me stuff about the program was using so I could do this piece, and I still ended up asking another artist friend to explain to me what she meant. I couldn’t get it, and I think I only half understood even after all that! Yeesh!

But.

The idea that the one she sent me to do was so tender and sweet, it really worked with the other one being more intense. Which, also makes sense, if you know this couple 😉 .
And, I don’t normally work with scenes the intimate, or nudity. I need to do an uptake on my figure drawing, too.

Yet, the more I drew, the more I wanted it to capture something new. Exhilarating. Like this was something they hadn’t done before, or something that took this routine and amplified the emotion which made it special. Like, say, “I think I wanna marry you” to your long time, cutie-patootie, partner. To capture both the cool confidence and the blushing, passionate giddiness of our love-struck, undercut, sporting gal. To capture the high energy, the pure affirmation, the love, bubbly, excitement that fills her little kitten’s eyes. Even with how nervous I was, the more I drew, the more in love with the picture I got. Which says a lot cause I liked it before I even touched it.

If I were to revisit, I would change some stuff, sure. Try to balance of preserving Achiru’s style of eyes while keeping the intensity of the feels, for one. You can see what I mean when I post the line art and my first attempt.

But you know what? I like it a lot.

And Achiru said, that she did too.

And that warms my heart.

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Also, this piece comes with a cheezy play list of stuff that inspired me as I Drew it:

Marry you: Bruno

Hanging by a moment: life house

She’s so high: Tal Bachman

There she goes again: Six pence none the Richer 

Savage garden: Truly Madly Deeply 

Heaven: DJ Sammy Remix

Can’t stop loving you: Van Halen

Listen to your heart: Cascada

Drops of Jupiter: Train

Love, Simon.

So, friends, let’s have a hopefully no spoilers chat about this movie.

I’ve seen so many people gush about it, as much as I have seen the discourse machine already rear it’s head into full analytical dissection. I’m just here to express my thoughts and emotions regarded to this film as candid as possible, just trying to be honest. That may mean I am mistaken, misinformed, have a different opinion, or just be really emotional/invested, or biased. I say that, and I own that as I write this. I am aware that my white, middle class queerness does inform my perspective as I write, too.

And one last thing before getting into it: this is your only content warning. The themes discussed or language used may be either triggering, upsetting, or stressful. It may not be for everyone, so that is you’re only warning. And, well, get ready for me to rant about, well, me, too.

One of my biggest fears of coming out not proving folks wrong, but proving them right. 

I was a fag. That people calling me that before we ever new the term, seeing my sin in plain site, could possibly have more insight into who I was than I. That it was more than something that was wrong, or a shit thing to be. That was that shit thing.

I didn’t want to even entertain the thought because being a shit thing also meant, well, that I was shit. A waste of space.

That I didn’t deserve to be here. To live.

Even in my most toxic, impulsive, or shitty behaviour, trying to prove I existed (or deserved too) centered around that question. My cries for attention, letting my loud voice carry, both trying to be who I was without conforming, but also Idol worshiping and seeking community in the popularity contests and drama, actually stemmed from a long anxiety that they were right about that, too.

That even in my ivory tower, I had assumed that my entitlement to life was an illusion. To it’s length, it’s laughs, it’s loves, and up and down’s, was always conditional.

I see eyed people who told me that wasn’t true, that God’s love was without conditions, and I was entitled to life because he created it. I had no words to explain I never felt, or never felt the extent to my right to live was either delusional/ condition based until arriving in Catholic school. It’s not just I never felt so judged, it was in those “accepting” communities I never felt so judging. God could never push you away, and neither could the faithful. To explain that’s the very time I started pushing folks away, or felt pushed. Like I was not allowed to exist, or be here, was in those earliest years.

Trying to find help in those communities felt like I was playing a game of “Fool me 9 times, shame on you.” 10? 11? 12? When was the time were the same was on me?

The very people who told me to sought help accused me of crying wolf. The people who said they would be there were the ones to scoff, or deject me, or hold the people I was scared of in high regards so they wouldn’t listen to me. Or, hold me in high regards when I was also being an ass, so they wouldn’t listen to those I hurt, either. (At times it felt like I  was held to a higher standard but I would be lying to myself if this wasn’t also true).

I felt like saying “I exist” or “I was allowed too” was the very thing to violate the terms and conditions of the contract. When, I felt upset that this is the behaviour I was being taught, I would called out for both the behaviour, and the fact I would point out it was what we were teaching each other.

I was afraid that they were right. Or, that if I let them be right about being queer, a clear “terms and service” violation, then they would be right about whether I was allowed to live at all. Something I debated, a lot.

Both the thought of living and dying made me anxious. Both seemed to impossible to accept. To absurd.

But, here I am.

Here I am.

There have been people who’ve liked me. I have hurt people, but I’ve helped people. I’ve made folks smile.

And everyone of them said “the thing I appreciate about you is your desire to life. Your passion, your energy, the fact you can be yourself and accept yourself (even when you don’t make the best decisions, or folks mock you). Your smile. You enjoy being. Existing, being you. And that can be infectious.”

And part of that for me, for many folks, is natural. That is from the heart.

To explain that being in the closet wasn’t a straight out lie, but living a half truth. That I could both find this deep sense of appreciating the world and dread getting up in the morning. That just because I was out going doesn’t mean I was confident, or that I didn’t have crippling social anxiety.

That people could not understand how much that I wanted to be here, and yet still asked the question: “Did I deserve too?”

“Did I deserve to live?”

And though my parents are awesome, and have always been accepting. That didn’t mean I grew up in world where queerness, and specifically my queerness, felt like violating the terms and conditions to live. Being queer felt like I didn’t deserve to live more than when I legitimately did someone wrong.  

Even after seeing people go before their time made me realize I couldn’t play this game anymore. Even after taking my name back, being close two years on hormones, to feeling so much better than ever before, I still play this game.

Less than I did. Considerably less. But I still do play it.

I mean, I was trying so hard to show that having things like: Mom and I having a good relationship especially when I was little (being a momma’s boy), liking both easy bake oven’s and action figures, being sensitive, having parents that would help me when I struggled (even if it was simple), that I had moments where Make up/pink/and glitter didn’t seem so evil as I was told they were, meant I was queer. That it meant they were right.

And to tell people that correlation isn’t causation, that I wasn’t “turned” queer, that I can have all these experiences and be queer, as much as someone else could have them and not be.

But, you know what?

It’s only after so long that I realized, maybe that was not the question I need to ask. Or even was the one I was really worried about.

Did it matter if they were right?

Not “who cares,” but, even if I was queer, that had no impact whether I had a right to live or not.

And slowly, framing the question from that way, made me slowly. Definitively answer their other question.

They were wrong, as much as they were right. I am queer, and I deserve to live. They are not mutually exclusive, and this is not debatable. It never was, or it never should’ve been. Or both.

And if I realized that, I may have not (accidentally and intentionally) dragged folks when I was down, too. I would have walked with them, rather than hide. Behind hate, my loud voice, or anything else. I wouldn’t have ran had I been as strong as people believed I was.

But for the first time, I feel stronger than I ever have been. In my heart. If I had been a cracked, broken person, I finally found where it was and I have patched it. Or started to patch it. I’ve found how to be a whole person of my own. Not an Island, not isolated, very much one of many billions of people, but a whole one, all the same.

I’m queer as fuck.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, you may ask:

What the FUCK does this have to do with the movie?

Wasn’t this about “love Simon?”

This movie was about this, for me.

Simon navigating the closet, his worth, his relationships, his queerness.

People talk about how this movie is about “assimilation” more than living our queer stories unapologetically. “We’re just like you,” “you haven’t changed,” a “straight passing” kind of gay.

I’m not saying there weren’t elements of that. Or that there isn’t more to that perspective that’s super valid and I may not do it justice as I type, here. And it’s a little white, middle class, kind of gay. The movie doesn’t have a lot outside of the G in “Lgbtq+,” either.

But I was sitting beside a queer person I could only hope to be, an inspiration from another generation. We talked how this didn’t exist (Movie’s like this) when they were growing up, and I who came after could relate to that. Or, that if movie’s and shows did exist when I was younger, my relationship was either ignorant or tenuous at best. Yet, we both bawled our fucking eyes out when we saw this film. It wasn’t just for the teens and future generations to come, as much as it was for them, too. This movie about a white gay kid reminded us that we both deserved to live. 

I may be wrong to speak for them, but I think the emotions spoke for themselves.

We cried for a reason.

We deserved to be here, like Simon. We may have been afraid to speak up. We may have messed up. We may get lost in the drama. We may fall down, like Simon.

But we get up too. Like Simon.

And so, if Simon was a real kid (and someways, he and all his friends are) I would give him a big hug, if he was up for it. Because, he loves, with a very big heart.

And we love you too, Kiddo.
And your Movie,

We’re so proud of you.

Dear Simon,

Thank you,

Love,

Izzy.

Hey, want to read this short story I wrote about the Friend zone being bullshit?

Something I wrote on FB a long time ago. Technically they own it. But, unless it get’s me famous, I really don’t think they would care. The thing about the spelling errors is part of the original post. Just thought I would mention that. ALSO, a little sappy. So, there is that. 

This is going to have mad spelling errors, and it is not based on anyone particular person. Just some random hypotheticals strung together. So yeah, this is a story about a contemporary issue that hopefully will get destroied after people read this story. Enjoy XD

Jack had been much louder as a child in his younger years compared to the present. Granted, he was still loud and embaressed himself frequently when he raisied his hand to answer questions in class, but the boy cursed with tongue twistedness had become increasingly more reserved. His laughter was sometimes a cover up for his loneliness, his joy simply a clever mask for his deep melancholy state.

Could it be what happened just a year ago is still plaguing him?

He had confessed his love to a girl named Courtney 11 months and three days ago, and was turned down. Everyone knew he was angry for a while, and many people thought he was right to feel mislead. The two WERE inseperable, they did EVERYTHING together. There was not a moment they spent together where one had their face contorted into a frown. Many thought they were right for each other, but alas she had her eyes on another.

Poor Jack didn’t understand. Why this other fellow, Clint, why him? He used his clothes and his money to buy respect from others, he was mean and rude and a braggart, he was ass. Pure and simply, he was an ass. Jack thought that there might be girls who want a piece of ass, but not a whole asshole. And if there were girls who were into that, he didn’t think it would be Courtney.

So Jack slowly slid until he could hide in plan site. He rarely talked to Courtney anymore, and it tore him up inside. He didn’t want to be “just friends.” He wanted to be hers.

What he didn’t realize is that this tore Courtney up too. He saw Joan desperately look at Jacky with eyes of need. Joan was the only person who seemed to be able to talk an honest Jack. To get him to share his heart, she could get him to be himself. He never had problems doing that before, and when he did she was the only one who could do it. Courtney was being replaced by a girl who was so obviously in love with Jack, there was no way she could compete against Joan for his friendship. And he didn’t give her the time of day.

Courtney thought the least she could do was to help Jack see what a good girl Joan was, and hopefully pairing the two up might at the very least allow there her friendship with Jack to end on a good note. So she confronted Jack.

Jack might be taken back! His heart pounded with glee when Courtney wanted to talk to him again. Well, that was short lived. All she could go on about was Joan. He didn’t care. He had enough. He got up to walk away…

“When did you become so rude?!” Courtney shouted at Jack.

“I may be rude,” Jack replied, “but at least I am not crazy.”

“Oh, and Isupposed I am,” Courtney snorted.

Jack almost ran back to her so he could get in her face to yell these words:

“YES. YOU. ARE. You complain about how women get treated by men all the time, about our dementedly patriarchal society, about how you are tired of cocky asshole boys who make girls life horrible AND YOU ARE DATING THE EPITOME OF THAT.”

Courtney chuckled, “Really, that’s what that’s about?”

Jack stood there dumbfounded. That wasn’t the reaction he expected.

“Love isn’t something that’s planned, my friend,” she went on to explain. “The reality is, as much of a dumb boy he can be, he can be sweet and carring and the nicest gentlemen I have ever met.”

This was all blah, blah, blah, to Jack. The NEXT part however, hit him hard.

Courtney asked him a simply question, “besides, how can I love someone who doesn’t completely love me?”

Jack DEMANDED an explination, in his mind, as to what that meant. OF COURSE he loved everything about her…

“You don’t love the part of me that isn’t in love with you.”

Again he froze. What’s with all of this bullshit, it didn’t make any sense.

“Think about it,” Courtney said as she kept stringing Jack along to a different path of thinking. “you love all of these things about me. I know you do. The way I laugh, the way I smile, it’s the same things I love about you. But you do not love them the same, the way it is with your little game, if I am not yours to tame. You stop loving those things about me at the level you USED to love them simply because you don’t think I love you back. You are paranoid, you think that I will abondon you. What you want is love, what you want is an ego booster. You want to be less lonely. IT’s not me you want by your side,” she sashayed with her words “it’s just someone. You want someone, and I was the obvious choice because I was your closest friend. Love may com in many forms, but that isn’t it. If you look at how you actually love me, deep in your heart, its no different than how you love me.”

The saddness into his heart transformed into a complete hollowness of being. Not a love sickness that he thought he suffered from, but a dissapointment in himself…

Much later that evening, after she had dissapeared from his sight, he went home furious. Walking through the door he started breaking shit all over his house. His mother was screaming at him as he unleashed his hate for himself, but he would not hear her woulds even after he slammed his door.

After preforming his anguish to an audience of one, he grabbed the lonely photo that sat on his nightstand. It was his deceased father. It was a hero. Someone who changed the lives of many, Someone who left the world better than he found it.

“I miss him too,” His mother who had seemed to seemed to sneak up on him reminisced.

He hadn’t planned on sharring with his mother, but the words escaped him.”I just wish I could be him…”

“Of course you can’t be him ,” his mother said in that same world a way voice.

“I know.” he thought to himself.

“You can be like him though…”

“HOW!?” He stood up from the bed with shock and awe.

“Simple. Grow into yourself.”

And with that she left a troubled Jack alone in the universe with his thoughts…

10 years later…

Courtney was meeting an old friend in the one hour there schedules allowed them too, before they went back to their very seperated lives.

There was Jack, similar as he was in the past, bbut yet totally different all at once. She couldn’t place what the change was or what happened to him, but they had an hour to talk about it. He smiled at her, a smile that was straight from a memory of when they hung out together, yet some how stronger.

“it’s been to long,” he stated as he wrapped her in a big bear hug. He inquired about her life, they talked about everything under the sun. They smiled. They laughed again. It was like the past, but better.

She had to ask about it, they change, that is.

His smile never changed. He just looked into space and with clarity he spoke.

“I love you as you said I would, but I was just used to hiding out in the open, that I forgot what you loved about me. I forgot that I hid that away. It was my ability to be myself. As I started to remember that, that ability to just be myself, to be glad with whatever exists with me in this life, I kinda just grew into myself. They guy I wanted to be and that guy I ought to be became the same guy. I became, me. In the purest sense, and if someone is going to love me romantically it’s when I am me. And I will love them for being them, whoever they are at that moment.”

Then Jack got up to go. He waved good bye as he went to meet his girlfriend for three years, Joan, for a romantic evening. And as he left, Courtney had tears in her eyes. Whether they were for joy or for sorrow, as she watched her boy, her “kid brother” walk a way a man.